Cirice Forge doesn't know who she is. Other than a piece of paper with her name on it, she knows nothing about her time before she was dispersed into the foster system. Now, she bartends at a popular gentleman's club with plenty of ogling and still...
A/N: The following chapter contains content that may be triggering to some readers. Also these chapters are ten times longer than Burning Desire's.
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Cirice was not someone who usually wore makeup. Apart from a few times where she had somewhere important to go, her makeup routine usually just included some eyeliner and lip stick. However, this evening she knew she had to make an effort in order to achieve her goal.
After raiding the makeup table in the back room, she emerged, her makeup flawless thanks to Gina. She then found a costume, a lacy bustier top and stuck with her black underwear.
As she strolled out, part of her could not believe that she had relented to do this. It was everything she hated about Daddy Ben's, yet the hope of a studio apartment in Hyde park placed her on autopilot as she mounted the stage.
“It's just a few hours.” she reminded herself as Polly gave her a look.
“What are you doing out here?” she snapped, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“Same thing you are.” Cirice snapped.
She was never one who liked to dance and had only been to a club in Boston once. That night ended with her arrest after she assaulted some asshole who had groped her.
Cirice exhaled as a new song came on. “I can do this.” she reminded herself softly. She let the music carry her away.
****
By the time Latham turned the neon signs off, Cirice was redressed in her normal attire and counting the money from the till. Her own profits were safely tucked away.
“Thanks for comin through for me.” Latham commented as she finished counting the till. It was all there, to her surprise. Henry usually came up short at least twice a week.
“Anytime. Uh actually I need to talk to you.” Cirice started as Latham looked at her. She gestured to the seat beside her and he took it.
Courage was fleeting, after all this was a pretty big step to take, especially when she knew she would be homeless because of it.
“I wanna quit.” Latham raised his eyebrows in suprise.
“Why? Is it because of that?” he asked, gesturing to the stage. Cirice shook her head.
“No, I just don't want to work here anymore. I got a job offer over at Viola, running the books and all.” Cirice lied, knowing damn well she could never work at that restaurant with her piercings and tattoo. She was also pretty certain that she wasn't French.
Latham sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face.
“I'll stay on for my two weeks, tending the bar of course.” Cirice clarified, tapping the countertop. Latham shook his head.
